


make up shake up break up

by aprilboys



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 11:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7530154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilboys/pseuds/aprilboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin should've thought a lot more about who he said his fake boyfriend is when he rejected for the umpth time Chanyeol confessing his undying love for him in public, especially since his significant other is no other than his best friend Taemin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make up shake up break up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the taekai fic fest in response to prompt #35. I set this fic in Mahoutokoro, which is the canon in-verse school of magic in Asia because I wanted to include cool worldbuilding stuff that I ended up not getting around to doing. ;;;; Hope you enjoy regardless!

It pays to have a friend in the House of Genbu, the Black Tortoise deity, at Mahoutokoro School of Magic. Genbu was the house of wisdom and patience, home to the best tutors on campus. And while Jongin’s favorite seventh year Do Kyungsoo usually fell under that category, he was definitely not having it today.

“Kyungsoo, please,” Jongin juts his bottom lip out. He had meekly approached Genbu House’s breakfast table on the northern end of the school dining hall, scroll and brush in hand, only to be soundly rejected by his Genbu friend in favor of a bowl of congee.

“Your grades aren’t going to get better unless you do the work yourself,” said Kyungsoo, taking daikon with his spoonful of porridge, “That’s why you’re still in the pink.”

While most students’ school robes graduated alongside their years from cherry pink to white—gold if you really overachieved—as a sixth-year student Jongin’s robes were still a soft baby pink. Which was why this morning Jongin had to grovel for a last minute Transfiguration cram from his favorite upperclassman.

“Grades aren’t important to Quidditch scouts,” Jongin grouses. “No one’s going to care that I was a late-bloomer student when I become Seeker on the national team.”

“So you don’t need my help with studying then,” Kyungsoo replies smoothly.

Jongin is about to protest when Kyungsoo suddenly goes wide-eyed and hisses, “It’s him again.”

Jongin sits up alert, looking down the aisle of cherry blossom-robed students for his stalker. Sure enough, from the southern side of the dining hall came Jongin’s personal least favorite person in the school, sauntering over to their table so forcefully Jongin could hear the squelching sound of morning congee quaking in their bowls.

“Fuck.” Jongin pushes bowls and chopsticks to the side and drops his head on the table, feigning sleep. Kyungsoo snorts at him but otherwise keeps his expression neutral.

Jongin doesn’t know how or why a seventh-year from the House of the Vermillion Bird has the hots for him. True, he’s a Seeker on the Byakko House Quidditch team, a damn good one at that, and rigorous training has shaped him into pretty decent shape. So it’s not a surprise that someone has the hots for him so much that that “someone” is Park Chanyeol. The same pureblood Park Chanyeol who pranks underclassmen and spins lies about the magical world to Muggleborns, who makes fun of Jongin’s dark skin and gives sly compliments in order to get praised in return, has been full-on pursuing Jongin for about two months now. And it’s always been things that weird Jongin out or flat-out piss him off, from filling his desk with firecrackers one day to sneaking a botched love potion into his dinner the next. Jongin had to repay the school for his burnt desk and hasn’t been able to stomach kimchi spaghetti ever since.

Worse, Chanyeol is popular in that self-assured fuck boy persona way, whereas Jongin—Jongin keeps his friend group tight and close. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume Chanyeol’s “crush” on him is some elaborate inside joke he’s not in on.

“Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol booms. There’s a loud clap and a choking sound; Chanyeol must’ve given Kyungsoo a manly slap on the back just as the other was swallowing. Jongin squints up to find Kyungsoo shooting Chanyeol a look promising death. Chanyeol gulps, and directs his attention to Jongin instead.

Maybe if Jongin stays still and ignores Chanyeol long enough, he’ll go away—

“I almost didn’t notice you Jongin—you were blending in with the shadows so well.” Chanyeol guffaws at his own joke. Jongin snaps his head up, glaring. Chanyeol always knows exactly what to say to tick Jongin off. That comment, coupled with the way Chanyeol is currently sweeping his potion-dyed hair back from his forehead in a pseudo-suave gesture, has Jongin seething.

Oblivious to Jongin’s discomfiture, Chanyeol continues on with his pre-planned routine. With a flourish of his wand (phoenix feather core, long and extra springy), Chanyeol Summons a guitar from the Suzaku House table, narrowly avoiding a few heads. Now Chanyeol’s drawn the attention of quite a few students, and it’s all Jongin can do to not Apparate instantly from the dining hall. Instead, he hunches even lower over his breakfast, waiting for the storm to pass. Kyungsoo gives Jongin a commiserating look.

Chanyeol waves his wand a few times more, prompting the guitar to strum out acoustic chords on its own.

“I composed a song for you while looking at the full moon,” Chanyeol says modestly. “It’s inspired by your wild animalistic persona.”

“Fuck off, Chanyeol,” Jongin spits. “I’m not a werewolf.”

“Shh. Just listen,” Chanyeol winks. Jongin gags.

 _I feel the sensation; I feel it at once._  
I’ll take you in one mouthful like cheese.  
I take in your scent, scrutinize your color  
I’ll eat you up with more refinement than drinking wine.

Jongin wishes the inactive volcano Mahoutokoro School of Magic was perched upon could erupt this very instant, taking everyone here with it.

_—I’ve fallen for this irresistible, powerful feeling and I’ve let go—_

Just when he thinks things can’t get any more mortifying, Jongin spots the last person he’d want to see this making a beeline straight toward him: a bobbing violet head amidst a sea of cherry blossom pink.

“Is this a concert?” a cheery voice cuts through the climax of Chanyeol’s serenade.

Chanyeol’s guitar squacks at the sudden appearance of an interloper. And unwitting savior, although Jongin would never admit it out loud; if Taemin knew just how much he’d saved Jongin’s ass by intercepting just now, he’ll never let it die.

“Hey, rookie, I was in the middle of some—” Chanyeol turns around, presumably to pull rank on this presumptuous underclassman, but stops short when he spots whom he’s dealing with. Jongin can practically see Chanyeol’s gears turning: the way he’s taking in Taemin’s parted hair with its silver-to-violet fade; his clear, glowing skin; his beatific features.

“Oh,” says Chanyeol, helplessly.

“Are you trying to get Jongin to sing? It’s hilarious, right?” Taemin’s smile widens impossibly. Somehow, it does nothing to detract from his unearthly appearance.

Jongin scoffs at Taemin’s words. Bystanders are gawking at Taemin like he’s a demi-god descended, but Jongin knows better—classic Taemin, wandering in completely oblivious to the situation.

“Uh…” For once, even Chanyeol is rendered speechless.

Quickly losing interest in Chanyeol’s sudden muteness, Taemin turns back to Jongin.

“Jongin-ah, you still down for tonight?” Taemin says suggestively, a mischievous glint Jongin knows too well in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re on,” Jongin grins back.

“See you at the usual place then. Let’s see who can last the longest this time,” Taemin gives him a lazy half-salute before dematerializing as suddenly as he had appeared.

They all watch as Taemin leaves before everyone in vicinity turns on Jongin appraisingly.

“Who the fuck was that.” Chanyeol blusters through the hush, his eyes huger than even before. The tips of his pointy ears are red-tinged, but his face is pale as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Taemin,” says Jongin simply. “He’s in Seiryū.”

It really goes to show how little Chanyeol actually knows Jongin when he doesn’t even know who Jongin’s best friend of eight years is. Not to mention self-absorbed; Taemin is something of a school celebrity, but Jongin supposes Chanyeol doesn’t pay attention to people who don’t pay attention to him.

“What is he, mixed blood or something?”

“Taemin’s grandma was a veela,” Jongin says defensively, “what’s it to you?”

Chanyeol looks Jongin up and down, and looks half-fearful when he unexpectedly asks, “Are you two…like…together?”

Jongin stares.

“Me? With Taemin?”

Jongin has known Taemin since boyhood. They became fast friends on the first train ride to Mahoutokoro, swapping Quidditch cards on a compartment couch. In spite of the House divide with its centuries of tiger-dragon rivalry, Taemin and Jongin shared almost everything. They’ve raced each other on broomstick under Muggle aircraft over and roiling waves, dodging lightning for bludgers. In short, they were best friends, an assumption of fact that Jongin had taken for granted as something everyone knew. Veela blood didn’t enter into it. Jongin’s mouth works for a bit, trying to find the words to explain him and Taemin to someone like Park Chanyeol.

Then Kyungsoo, who for all this time has remained passive, plows through Jongin’s next words with a single authoritative statement: “They’re together.”

And with that, the sound of the morning gong rumbles from a high distance, signaling the start of class. Students scatter like petals from the hall, murmuring about what else but the dramatic three-way love triangle confrontation from this morning. Jongin grabs his bag and leaves a stunned Chanyeol at the table, his guitar still suspended in the air.

 

“Hyung,” Jongin catches up with Kyungsoo and practically hisses, “what was that for?”

“I’m doing you a favor,” Kyungsoo replies, calmly as ever, “Now Chanyeol will leave you alone if he thinks you’re dating Taemin.”

“Yeah, except I’m not dating Taemin,” Jongin scream-whispers. “He’s going to find out about this by the time first period starts and totally deny everything and I’ll just be back to square one.”

“You guys are friends, aren’t you? Just ask him to do this favor for you.”

“I don’t know if he’d agree to something like this,” Jongin says uncertainly.

“If not, you could ask him to seduce Chanyeol for you,” Kyungsoo says, sounding bored. Jongin grimaces at the thought.

“Either way, I think he’s your best bet to get rid of Chanyeol for good. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Listen, Jongin,” Kyungsoo turns around and looks Jongin dead in the eye. “This isn’t just for you. Park Chanyeol won’t leave you alone, and you won’t leave me alone. By that association, I have to deal with Park Chanyeol just as much as you do. Do you get what I’m saying.”

Jongin gulps, and nods.

“Now,” Kyungsoo’s eyes lose some of their frigidity, “don’t you have a Transfiguration test to take or something?”

“Forget the test,” groans Jongin, “I need to go buy Taemin a lifetime supply of banana milk.”

 

 

As soon as the bell chimes for cram period, Jongin makes a mad dash to the study room Taemin usually frequents. He finds him behind the sliding door of their usual four-mat room, bent over a low table. He was thankfully alone, aside from a flock of Heian-era painted courtesans that had migrated into the usually unpopulated screen walls of the room, presumably to ogle him.

“Oh, you’re here,” Taemin looks up at the sight of Jongin, as though he’d been expecting him. The painted courtesans behind him fanned themselves coquettishly, giggling.

“Are you busy?” Jongin nods at the tangle of scrolls Taemin had shoved aside. He’s reminded that Taemin’s robes were cream-colored in contrast to Jongin’s resolutely pink ones. At closer glance, however, Jongin sees that the majority of the scrolls are dominated by manga panels.

“Not anymore, now that you’re here to distract me.” Taemin grins cheekily. “What’s up? I thought we were going to meet up for Quidditch practice later tonight.”

“Yeah…actually, something came up.”

“Oh,” Taemin’s voice is laced with disappointment, “What, did you get yourself into detention again?”

Jongin shakes his head. “Have you heard anything from your classmates this morning?”

“Wasn’t paying attention,” says Taemin, brow furrowed. “Is something wrong? You’re scaring me.”

Jongin takes a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy. Jongin removes the pack on his back solemnly and empties a gallon’s worth of banana milk onto the tatami mat. In any other situation, the look on Taemin’s face would be hilarious.

“What is this, a sacrificial offering?”

“You know Park Chanyeol? Tall, loud guy with the guitar you saw this morning?”

Taemin lifts a pale eyebrow.

“That guy who’s been following you around that you won’t stop complaining about? What’s he got to do with this?”

“He sorta has a—a thing for me.”

Taemin’s voice is quiet when he asks, “A thing as in…he’s bullying you?”

“No! Well, yes,” Jongin blurts, “he has this weird crush on me.”

“Oh,” Taemin’s eyebrows are on the verge of disappearing into his fringe. Then he looks at the pile of banana milk on the floor and back at Jongin with a dubious expression.

“Yeah,” Jongin mutters.

“No,” says Taemin flatly. “No way.”

“Just hear me out, okay.”

“You know I hate doing the veela thing—”

“I’m not asking you to do the veela thing, I just need you to go out with me.”

Taemin’s mutinous expression morphs into one of incredulity. Jongin hastens, a beat late, to add, “Like, a fake-date. A faux-beau to ward off my foe.”

“Why me?”

“Because everyone would believe it if we were dating! We’re already best friends so together we would be, you know, a power couple?” Jongin smiles a little and Taemin ducks his head, pouting.

“Can’t you just hex him?” Taemin complains weakly.

“Last time I did that, he tattled and I missed Quidditch practice for three weeks. This’ll only take one week, two weeks tops. All we have to do is hold hands and hang out together a lot, which, we kinda do already. C’mon, Taeminnie,” Jongin wheedled, “for me?”

Jongin leans closer, and Taemin turns away, the flush on his face odd-colored on the natural silver of his face.

“I’ll treat you to food for a month. Kitsune oden for a day.”

Taemin considers. “Kitsune oden for a week. And you have to Apparate us there.”

“Deal. Thanks, Taemin-ah. And,” Jongin turns to address the painted courtesans on the wall, “as far as you’re concerned, we’re a couple, okay?”

The courtesans squeal at him in mock-scandalized tones.

 

 

“Did you hear?”

“The Seekers for the Byakku and Seiryū Quidditch teams are an item!”

“Ooo, forbidden love….”

“The hot one and the one that’s a hanyō? Figures…the good ones are always taken.”

“Not like you would have had a chance with either of them anyway.”

“There’s still Nakamoto Yuta in Suzaku.”

“Not like you have a chance with him, either.”

Jongin shifts uncomfortably in front of the Seiryū dormitory entrance. He hadn’t anticipated that there would be an audience awaiting him. Word really did travel fast—it felt as though every eye was on him, the Byakku House Seeker skulking around the East Wing like Romeo under Juliet’s balcony. Even the silver-scaled dragon deity itself, wrought in a coiling blue crest on the double doors, seemed to appraise Jongin with its moonstone eyes.

 

At last, the massive doors rumble open and Taemin slips out, ducking his head once he sees the gathering outside.

“Sorry, I didn’t think there’d be so many people here watching,” he mumbles, not quite looking at Jongin.

“It’s alright. I’m used to seeing your fans waiting around here.”

“They’re not here for me,” Taemin says tersely, walking faster.

Jongin frowns. Something’s wrong with the picture here.

Right. They’re supposed to be “dating.”

Wordlessly, Jongin reaches over and grabs Taemin’s hand, interlocking the fingers with his own. The corridor buzzes.

He’s held Taemin’s hand plenty of times before, but it’s usually a rough, messy gesture after the heat of a match. Nothing as soft as how he’s handling him now.

Jongin doesn’t dare meet Taemin’s eyes as he steers them both toward the breakfast hall. Taemin’s hand fit small in Jongin’s, but his palm is rough with callouses. Taemin’s callouses are in the same place Jongin’s are; their twin years of wand- and broom-handling have shaped their palms the same shape.

Jongin’s thoughts are cut short once they reach the mess hall. Then he realizes that the entire walk, he and Taemin hadn’t exchanged a single word with each other.

“Hey,” Jongin breaks the silence, “you okay?”

“Just nervous,” Taemin says. Despite Jongin’s reassurances that they would just be acting, Taemin’s definitely acting out of the ordinary today.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” begins Jongin, but Taemin shakes his head.

“I’m in it for the oden,” Taemin says wryly.

So they’re both laughing and holding hands when they enter the mess hall, with half the school watching.

A hush falls over the room. Jongin spots Chanyeol, his head slightly above all the others’, eyes agog. Beside him, Jongin senses Taemin freezing up.

“C’mon,” mutters Jongin, making his way toward the Byakku table. Taemin sits down demurely next to him. It occurs to Jongin that this is his fight, so he should be the one taking the lead. Jongin stretches his arm over Taemin’s shoulders and pulls him close.

Jongin feels Taemin tense up against him, skittish about the proximity with all the eyes on them.

The entire breakfast hall seems to suck in a collective breath. They—Chanyeol—need more than that.

Heart hammering, Jongin leans over and brushes his lips against Taemin’s smooth cheekbone as quickly as he can manage.

Jongin can’t tell if the roaring is coming from the people around them or just his own ears, but after seeing first Taemin’s pink cheeks then Chanyeol’s puppyish look of dejection, it sounds a little like applause.

 

 

The rest of the week is surreal, to say the least.

After the initial day of fumbling awkwardness, they’ve worked out a routine of sorts. Every morning, Jongin and Taemin meet for breakfast, entering the hall like a royal couple greeting the populace. After breakfast, they go their separate ways to class, but otherwise spend all their spare time together. It’s not drastically different from usual, except whenever Jongin sees someone staring, he’ll pull Taemin into a quick hug or brush his hair back from his face.

After a while Jongin realizes he actually likes this. There’s something terribly satisfying about teasing a tease like Taemin; as corny as Jongin’s gestures are, there’s nothing banal about Taemin’s reactions to them, which range from swooning cartoonishly to batting at Jongin in embarrassment—kind of like a real girlfriend, Jongin thinks idly.

Being faux-beaus also seems to come with extrasensory observation. Jongin starts to notice things about Taemin that he hadn’t consciously thought about before, like the way his eyelashes catches light sometimes when he blinks, the line of his neck and shoulders when he turns, the shape his mouth makes when he’s saying Jongin’s name. Jongin knew that Taemin lucked out on the gene pool but he also thought he was immune to Taemin’s veela wiles. Then again, maybe it’s just Taemin himself Jongin is growing weak to.

 

By the end of the week, the sensationalism of their dramatic dating debut has mostly subsided; at this rate, Jongin thinks they can drop the act in a few more days, and says as much to Taemin, who just gives him an odd smile and says nothing. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Jongin misses the normal Taemin, the one who would laugh and grin that joker grin of his and say, Great, get ready to foot the bill for 10 servings of oden.

 

Things come to a head on Friday, after an impromptu Quidditch practice.

It feels like it’s been forever since Jongin last flew; the wind ruffles his hair affectionately and the handle of his Firebolt feels like an old lover. The handful of students in the bleachers has been reduced to dots at this height, and Jongin finally feels out of their scrutiny. When he lands on solid ground, Taemin close behind, Jongin pulls off his shirt to feel the sun press against his back. It’s almost a perfect moment. Then Taemin crashes his broomstick.

Normally, Taemin has one of the most graceful landings Jongin’s seen in a flyer. Today, however, his descent wavers just a few meters from ground and sends him plowing feet-first against the turf, heels churning up dirt and grass for a good yard before lurching onto his hands and knees on the field.

Jongin is next to him in no time, brushing the mud off his robes.

“Are you okay?” Jongin says, already turning Taemin around to check for injuries, shirt forgotten on the ground.

“I’m fine,” Taemin replies, sounding a bit breathless. Taemin’s ears are red and his eyes refuse to meet Jongin’s. Weird, because usually Taemin would rebound from an accident like this grinning like a child who had completed a particularly reckless dare.

“Here,” Jongin kneels down, “get on my back. I’ll take you to the hospital wing.”

“I can walk on my own,” Taemin backs away, face redder than ever. Did he hit his head while landing?

“C’mon, don’t be stubborn,” Jongin says, cupping his hands under Taemin’s knees and pulling him against his bare chest.

“Let go,” hisses Taemin, swatting at Jongin’s arm. “No—seriously—”

Wolf whistling erupts from the stadium seats. Jongin turns to give the gawkers a glare but instead he makes dead eye contact with Chanyeol in the bleachers. He’s not teasing or tearful this time. Instead, he’s leaning forward in his seat, arms folded, and eyes intent. It’s as if he’s come to watch the spectacle unfolding, waiting for the signal that means all bets are off. Jongin realizes that if he wants Chanyeol gone once and for all, he’s going to have to put on a show.

Next thing he knows, he has Taemin’s wrists on lock, zeroing in on his lips. Taemin freezes like a deer in headlights. They’re close enough now that Jongin can see the tiny mole on the side of Taemin’s nose, feel uneven breath on his chin. Taemin’s eyes flutter shut. Jongin’s mind doesn’t get the chance to hit the breaks before his lips are on Taemin’s.

When they finally break apart, neither of them speaks. Then Taemin pushes off his chest abruptly and storms off the Quidditch field.

 

 

Jongin doesn’t see Taemin later that day, or the rest of the week. He doesn’t see him in the hallways, at the dining hall, or even at the Quidditch field. There are a few haunts that Jongin could stake out but even if he got ahold of Taemin, he wouldn’t know what to say. People are whispering, but Jongin doesn’t care anymore; in the six years Jongin has been attending school at an enchanted palace hidden on a rock in the middle of the sea, he has never felt it this desolate.

“Hey,” Kyungsoo says one morning, snapping Jongin out of his mope; “I heard Chanyeol is dating someone now.”

“Great,” responds Jongin tonelessly. “Good for him.”

Kyungsoo sets down his coffee. “Have you not made up with Taemin yet?”

“I don’t know,” Jongin responds miserably, “I don’t know how things went so wrong so fast.”

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo shakes his head, “you really don’t know how to read between the lines, do you?”

“Huh?”

“As an outsider who doesn’t look at your relationships through a romanticized homoerotic lens,” Kyungsoo mixes some soybean paste into his rice, “I don’t think Taemin was enjoying your act.”

“It wasn’t an act!” Jongin blurts out. “Or well, it stopped being an act after I realized that I actually really liked fake-dating Taemin? But things like holding hands and hanging out felt too…normal. I just wanted to do more couple-y things. But then I crossed the line when I kissed him and he didn’t like the kiss so that means he doesn’t like me, which sucks because I—” Jongin’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes widen even more. “Did you just realize you like Taemin?”

Jongin nods mutely. Then he puts his head in his hands.

“I can’t believe I got fake-broken up with before I ever got to real-date him.”

“You can still be friends,” says Kyungsoo, ever the realist. “Just tell him you’re sorry about the cliché romantic gestures you put him through. You never know. Maybe he’d give you a chance without the cheesy bullshit.”

“I thought people liked cheesy bullshit,” Jongin says, despairingly.

“Then why do you hate Park Chanyeol?”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo deadpans. Then he puts his hand on Jongin’s shoulder, gently, which is something Kyungsoo never does for anyone so Jongin knows he’s fucked up spectacularly this time. “He’s probably waiting for you to apologize.”

 

 

Miraculously, Jongin finds Taemin in their usual four-mat study room. He’s thankfully alone, and when he looks up at Jongin it’s as if he were expecting him.

Jongin takes off his backpack and dumps six melon breads onto the floor.

Taemin raises his eyebrows. “Is this another bribe?”

“It’s a peace offering,” Jongin replies, glad that they’re at least on talking terms. He takes a deep breath. “Look—I fucked up. I shouldn’t have done things that made you uncomfortable—I shouldn’t have made you a part of this twisted practical joke at all. Except, not all of it was a joke. I really did want to do all of those cheesy things with you because I,” Jongin gulps, “I really like you and not in the veela-enchanted way. It just took me a Park Chanyeol-induced crisis to realize it, and once I did I just rolled with the idea that we were fake-dating for laughs, because I was scared you wouldn’t want to do it for real. But I didn’t consider your feelings and that was a dick move so,” Jongin is feeling really red and kind of watery now, “I’m really, really sorry.”

There’s a pause. Jongin dares a glance up, and finds Taemin biting his lip, dithering.

“Oh my God,” Jongin can’t help himself, “just hit me, okay? Hit me all you want.” And he ducks his head down, squeezing his eyes shut. Instead of pain, however, all Jongin feels is a little flick on his forehead.

Jongin opens his eyes again, surprised. Taemin cracks a smile. “I, the great Taemin-nim, forgive your transgressions.”

“Thank you, Taemin-nim,” Jongin says immediately, relief washing over him. “Can we still be friends? Best friends? Even if you don’t like me the same way I do?”

“Well,” Taemin says, and he’s red for some reason, “I never said that.”

Jongin gapes. Taemin has the same flustered look he made the first time Jongin kissed his cheek while they were fake-dating. Which means—he couldn’t possibly mean—

“Your face looks really dumb right now,” Taemin bursts out laughing.

“But! I thought you hated it when we were fake-dating!” Jongin gripes.

“Not all of it,” Taemin admits, glancing away. “But all that dramatic soap opera PDA…” Taemin quirks a smile, “What am I, a girl?”

“It was just for show,” Jongin protests, and then mumbles, “I thought that was what you were supposed to do with people you liked. Like in Muggle films.”

Taemin laughs at him then. “You hypocrite. You were acting just like Chanyeol. It was kind of hilarious, but don’t expect me to act like a romcom heroine when we date for real.”

Something blooms in Jongin’s throat, and it’s several seconds before he can speak. “Do you want to…?”

“If you want to,” Taemin replies, quickly.

“Yeah,” Jongin says breathlessly. For a few moments it’s all they can do to just smile at each other. Then:

“How should we do this?” Jongin asks.

Taemin’s smile keens a little. “We already tried doing things your way, so this time…” Taemin’s eyes skip down Jongin’s face. Jongin follows his lead, and—this time is so much better, Taemin pushing against him instead of away, one hand curled in Jongin’s shirt to keep him close.

“My way,” Taemin whispers, and Jongin lets Taemin play Casanova because this, too, is a side of Taemin no one’s gotten to see before, a side that Jongin leans into for another non-Park Chanyeol-induced kiss.


End file.
